


Like A Hurricane

by Lilysmum



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilysmum/pseuds/Lilysmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Anne have a conversation about Max, and Jack reminisces about the beginnings of his and Anne's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oppressa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppressa/gifts).



“Mr. Rackham?” the girl’s voice is barely audible. She stands hesitantly in the bedroom doorway as if prepared to flee.

“What on earth do you want?” Jack answers without turning, his bloodied face towards the window.

“Max…Max told me I should…”

“Get the fuck out.”

Anne’s voice from behind her startles the girl, causing her to slop water from the pitcher she is carrying onto the floor at her feet. She turns, eyes like saucers, and then freezes momentarily as if paralysed, before she attempts to step back past Anne and retreat.

“Put those down first, you idiot,” Anne growls at her harshly, and the girl turns again, spilling more water. She hurries into the bedroom to set down the pitcher and basin before scuttling back out the door as if she has just escaped with her life. She’s a child, Jack observes with a mix of pity and contempt as he turns to see the girl’s quick retreat, an apprentice whore sent to see to him.

Jack turns his face back towards the window as Anne approaches him.

“Fuck, Jack…” she sighs, reaching to touch his shoulder.  He shrugs her hand off impatiently.

“If that’s what you desire, Darling.” He bites off the words, and then continues bitterly, “As always, your wish is my command.” His shoulders slump in defeat.

With a heavy sigh Jack turns then, to face her, and Anne reaches out to grasp his chin and tilt his head this way and that, getting a good look at the damage to his face. She says nothing, her cool expression unchanged as she appraises the ugly gash across the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not that bad,” she tells him finally.

“They pissed on me.” Jack tells her flatly.

“You said.” Anne wrinkles her nose and tugs at his shirt, then the strings of his breeches.

Jack pushes her hands away from him, “The attention you pay to that whore has caused us no end of trouble, I hope you are aware,” he snarls, “This is just the beginning of what I fear will become a deluge of disapproval from those we wished to retain as allies.”

Undaunted, Anne just tilts her chin at him before placing one hand on his chest and lightly pushing him in the direction of their bed.

“Off.” She tells him curtly and Jack glares at her before stripping off his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, his lip curling in distaste at the odor, and at the blood that has dripped onto them.

“Ruined.” He spits the word out like a piece of spoiled food, glaring at Anne again. Anne just returns his look, before her eyes do a slow pass up and down his spare frame. His body hair is shockingly dark against white skin bruised about the ribs and hips. She flicks her hand at him, motions for him to turn and he does so, peering back over his shoulder at her grudgingly as she takes in the raw abrasions and blue crescent-shaped marks on his lower back and thighs.

“You’ll be alright,” Anne tells him at last, and tugs at his shoulder to get him to turn back to face her. She kicks aside his soiled clothing and steps up closer to him, her body brushing against his nakedness, “so will your shirt,” she whispers to him, her mouth just inches from his.

Anne’s nose twitches as if she can smell Jack’s blood, caked and dried on his face. With a slow glance downward she takes in the barely perceptible lengthening of his cock. The corner of her mouth curves slightly and Jack sees that she has noticed. No one else on earth would be able to discern such a slight change in him but Anne can. She knows everything about his body, everything about him.

Abruptly she brushes her thighs lightly against his and he allows himself to be shoved down across the bed. Anne turns away to retrieve the pitcher of water and the basin and carries them to the bedside table.

Jack can feel himself growing bigger again now, thicker, his cock filling in defiance of the annoyance on his face. He watches Anne out of the corner of his eye as she fills the basin and soaks a flannel cloth and wrings it out. She swats his hand away when he attempts to take it from her. Settling herself beside him on the bed she begins washing his face, starting at his forehead, smoothing out his furrowed brow, and then working her way down, soaking the dried blood and gently wiping it from his moustache and facial hair. Jack lies motionless, barely breathing.

“I had a bloody nose once,” Anne muses finally, when she has finished cleaning his face, “Do you remember?”

She gets up from the bed to empty the bloody water from the basin and refill it from the pitcher. Returning to the bed she wets another cloth and begins wiping splatters of dried blood from Jack’s throat and chest. Jack turns his face away. He refuses to look at Anne, or at what she is doing; refuses to acknowledge his dick’s outright betrayal of his wishes as it reclines against his belly, fully hardened and begging for attention.

“Of course I remember,” Jack says, finally, “do you honestly think I could ever forget anything, ever, that involved you?”

“You wanted to fuck me that night, too,” Anne tells him with a knowing glance downward.

“You flatter yourself, Anne,” Jack replies, his tone surly, “I do not wish to fuck you, at the moment, despite the way my condition may present itself, and if memory serves, that while on one level I may have wanted to, then, I was able to restrain myself.”

****

 

Jack had never liked James Bonny, a dull, walleyed loaf of a man who possessed a fat hairy belly, sagging tits and an irritating way of butchering the English language that made Jack want to slit his throat.

 Apparently life as a pirate hadn’t suited the man; the occupation takes daring and wits and guts to bring a man success.  Bonny had been blessed with none of the necessary traits and had seemingly become aware of that fact fairly quickly. At the first chance he got he had taken the King’s pardon, clearing his name and hanging around Nassau not quite making a living gambling and working as an informant for the governor.

The first time Jack saw Anne Bonny he assumed she was James’ daughter, not his wife. She was barely even a teenager then, a girl too young yet to belong to anyone but her father.

She was tall but very slender, her womanly shape not fully grown. She had pale freckled skin and a shock of red hair. Shifty, mistrustful eyes the colour of semi-precious stones peered out from beneath the brim of the hat she always wore. She often dressed in trousers and she carried two daggers at her belt. Someone told Jack that she had been raised as a boy, not as a girl, and that while James Bonny had failed miserably at the pirate trade his child-bride was apparently cut from a different cloth. Rumour had it that she had stabbed a servant girl in her father’s house at age 12 and that she had set fire to his plantation when he disowned her for marrying Bonny. Jack was disgusted to hear that James beat the girl, and that he loaned her out to his cronies for their pleasure from time to time, or to pay off gambling debts.

Jack spoke to Anne for the first time in a crowded tavern as she loitered in the background while her husband held court amongst a group of drunken men. Jack sidled up and introduced himself to her, bold as brass and feeling flush from his recent success as a new member of Charles Vane’s crew. Anne barely acknowledged him at first but as Jack persisted in trying to get her attention she eventually turned her gaze towards him.  

One look in those turquoise eyes of hers was all it took. Jack was shaken to the core.

Anne Bonny was no snivelling child, no cowed, weepy woman. Jack knew instantly that this young girl was a person who did not, and would never, belong to anyone but herself. She was a creature the likes of which he had never encountered before. In a single moment he believed everything that he had heard about her.

Jack Rackham was an ambitious man who lusted after many things – but he had never wanted anything the way he wanted Anne Bonny.

Their paths crossed from time to time in the taverns, or on the streets of Nassau. Anne was never at her husband’s side but usually lurked a step or two behind him. She rarely spoke. But Jack saw something in her eyes when she regarded him, something that told him his feelings were not one-sided. Be it across a crowded, smoky room or a teeming street, her delicately-featured face made him feel as if he was entering the calm eye of a storm, even as a tempest raged in her eyes.

Eventually Jack did the honourable thing. He approached the drunken James Bonny as he was down on his luck in a card game and offered him a small fortune to divorce his wife. James only glared and spit on the floor at Jack’s feet, brushing him off like an annoying fly. It was Anne, however, who answered Jack’s proposition.

“Stay out of my business, Rackham,” she growled at him in a voice like gravel, once James had turned his attention back to his card game, “do you think you can buy and sell me like an animal?”

“Shut your mouth, cunt,” James Bonny interrupted, looking back over his shoulder to where Anne stood, “or I’ll fucking shut it for you.” With a cruel sneer the man turned back once more to his card game, fingering the small pile of coins that sat on the table before him.

Anne curled her lip as if she smelled rotted flesh.

“What the fuck do you care if I’m here or not?” she spat the words disdainfully in her husbands direction, “Your dick don’t work but half the time anyway.”

There was a moment of dead silence in the room before Bonny stood to face his wife. He then turned his head to glance at Jack and in that second it was plain to see that James Bonny knew that Anne was no longer his.

With murder in his dull, porcine eyes Bonny stepped forward and grabbed the girl by her upper arms and yanked her towards himself.  He pulled his hand back across his own body and belted Anne across the face, sending her staggering backwards, knocking over a table and causing bottles and candles to go clattering to the floor.

Bonny only had time to take one fierce step towards his wife then before Jack grabbed him from behind. He pulled the shorter man’s head sharply backwards by its thinning hair and slit his throat in one smooth motion.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked mildly, turning to Anne where she stood, holding her hand up to her face as drops of blood dripped from her nose. He still held Bonny upright by the hair, using the man’s slack, doughy body to shield himself from the gouts of blood which pumped from the severed arteries of its dying neck. As it became dead weight in his hands he let the body slump to the floor and carefully stepped aside before inspecting his hands and clothing for specs of blood.

When he looked up Anne was already on her way out the door, the other patrons backing away quickly to allow her to pass. 

“You may not realize it, madam,” Jack called as he strode after her, “But I have just done you a sizeable favour.”

Anne turned back and stopped him in his tracks with her steady gaze, pushing back her hat as if to get a better look at him. 

“Saved me the trouble of doing it meself,” she snarled with a quick nod, “Come on.”

****

 

“You made me come though, twice, that night,” Anne tells him now as she continues her way down Jack’s body with her wet cloth, wiping smudges of blood and all traces of urine from his skin. He spreads his legs without prompting to give her access but she waits until she has finished the rest of his body before she sponges him there, cleaning him gently and thoroughly as if he were an infant.

Jack groans and turns his head to the side, his back arching involuntarily.

“I had to,” he answers her with a sigh, “as always I was powerless to refuse you something you so obviously wanted.”

****

 

As the widow Bonny tugged him by the hand up the stairs to her room in the inn Jack promised himself he would not bed her that night. It was unseemly, he felt, uncouth, for a man of his stature to take advantage of such a young woman, for any reason, but especially one whose husband he had just killed. He didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. It became obvious to him that Anne did not share his feelings, however, when after she had washed her face she closed the door behind them and lifted up her dress to remove her underthings.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked her indignantly as she reached for his trousers.

“Paying you back.” The teenager told him mildly, “I owe you.”

 Jack backed away reflexively and held up his hands in defense.

“You do not _owe me_ ,” he told Anne as she advanced towards him, the corner of her mouth upturned, “What I did I did for you and you alone, not for my own...” Jack shrugged, searching for a suitable word, “personal gain.”

“Mmmm,” Anne breathed against his mouth as she pressed her straight, slender body up against his, “But you want to. Fuck me. I know you do. ” She leaned against him until he backed up against the wall, pressing her flat belly and prominent hipbones up against his groin, “I know I give you the horn.”

“That may be so but…” Jack began before she kissed his lips, then kept her mouth on his, without moving.

“You’re incorrigible,” he managed to mutter as she teased his lips apart with hers. There was still a smear of blood on her upper lip and he was overcome with the desire to taste it.

“Dunno what that means.” Anne replied, with a shrug, “Been said before, though.”

Jack managed to pull away briefly, and take a deep breath.

“It means,” he began, before her mouth seized his again.

“Oh shut up, Rackham,” she breathed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head before dragging her mouth down his neck. As she lashed his collarbone with her small pointed tongue Jack felt himself being swept up into a swirl of gale-force desire that he knew he was all but powerless against.

****

 

“No one ever did those things to me before,” Anne muses, her head tilted to the side. She has removed her own clothes and straddled Jack’s body now, sitting comfortably across his thighs as if settling in for a long conversation. The mid-day sun streams in the window to light her hair on fire, a cascade of copper flowing over her shoulders, nearly covering her breasts.

“And I pray that no one ever does again,” Jack tells her, reaching to wind a thick tendril of her hair around his fingers, then sweeping it aside so that he can see her body more clearly. She is a grown woman now, more so than she had been on that night which seems so much longer ago than it actually was. He feels as if they’ve lived a lifetime together, in just the few short years since he’d taken her husband’s life.

Anne reaches for him then, finally, wrapping the fingers of one hand around the base of his cock and gathering his balls into her other hand expertly, exactly the way he would do it himself.

“I hope it is always just I,” Jack tells her through gritted teeth, after a moment, when he is able to tear his eyes away from what she is doing, “and never anyone else.”

****

 

He had used his mouth, the first time. He knew about it of course but he’d never done it before; he’d never had the inclination.  What he remembers is how large and dark his hands had appeared against Anne’s pale, slender thighs as he positioned her on the bed and draped her legs over his shoulders. He wasn’t prepared for the force of her desire, or how the act would affect him.  He could barely keep his hands off himself and ended up grinding his body up against the side of the bed like a savage while she strained upwards against his jaw.  He used his cock the second time, but without penetrating her, grabbing it like a tool and gliding it over her slick swollen flesh until she came again, cursing him for not fucking her but also saying his name in a way that made it sound like the most beautiful word in the English language.

Watching her take her pleasure at his own hands was too much for his self-control. He came too, he couldn’t help it, drawing fine white lines across the milky pale skin of her belly.

****

 

“You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?” Anne asks him, after a minute, studying the troubled look on Jack’s face as he regards her body.

“Quite frankly,” he replies, drawing a deep breath that lifts both of their bodies slightly, “yes.”

Anne leans forward to press warm soft breasts against his face, moving her torso slightly from side to side. Jack cannot resist the urge to snare one of the hard peaks in his mouth and swirl his tongue around it.

“Well don’t be,” Anne says, sitting back upright abruptly, “she’s just a whore.”

“Ahh, but you see, Anne,” Jack muses, sighing heavily, “that’s where I fear you may be wrong. I think that she is more than that, in your eyes.”

“Funny.” Anne replies, “I was thinking that exact thing about you. The day when I thought you fucked her in the bath.”

“Please,” Jack sighs dismissively, opening his mouth to continue, then thinking better of it. Instead he circles her waist with his hands for a moment before reaching up and back to grasp her shoulders, then her breasts, before finally settling his hands on her thighs, lifting her body weight slightly off of himself.

Anne leans backwards then and with one hand she reaches between her legs to open herself fully. She presses her body hard against the underside of his cock and rocks forward, sliding up against him, leaving a silvery trail on his skin and forcing a single perfect drop of clear fluid from him. It glints on the skin of his belly like a diamond in the sun. Jack moans involuntarily, painfully hard, feels his balls contract, aching.

“Look at that,” Anne all but snarls at him now, through clenched teeth, “and stop thinking about her.”

Jack turns his gaze instead upward to his partner’s face. She is slightly flushed, her eyes narrowed and focused on him, her lower lip trapped between sharp white teeth. And there it is, he sees, his favourite sight in all the world. Those eyes of hers which can be any and all colours of the ocean, are sea green now; sea green shot with flecks of pure gold. He only hopes the storm he sees in them still belongs to him.

In one smooth motion Jack rises, lifting both their bodies. He grasps Anne by the hips and turns them so that he is on top, pinning her to the bed. He spreads her legs roughly with his knee and positions himself just at her entrance.

“I will endeavour to do so my Darling,” he gasps, “if only you can promise that you will do the same.”

Anne squirms beneath his weight, arching her body up towards him, trying to entice him inside but he resists, using his physical strength and height to momentary advantage.

“I’m going to kill you Rackham,” Anne spits the words at him, tossing her head in frustration. She grasps his upper thighs, digging her fingernails into the tensed muscles there, nearly breaking the skin.

“I’ve no doubt, Anne, that one day that may very well be the case,” Jack bends his legs slightly, glancing down to ensure the correct angle, “but I doubt very much that it will be today.”

With a grateful sigh he slides inside in one long smooth motion, like a hot knife running through soft butter.

 

     

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Neil Young song of the same name and gifted to my lovely friend because I know she gets it...


End file.
